Secrets of the Ring
by Lawson227
Summary: One-shot. Shawn Spencer has a secret. A big one. And he needs to share it with someone before Bad Things Happen. Based on a moment's observation from SANTABARATOWN 2, therefore spoilers apply. This is, in fact, a Shules & Lassiter/Someone Who Remains A Mystery Until the End NOT a Shassie.


_**Secrets of the Ring**_

**AN:** Based on moment's observation from the car scene between Shawn and Carlton in SANTABARBARATOWN 2 where TimO forgot to take off his wedding ring before filming the scene. It was only visible for a brief flash, but it was enough to get my fevered little brain going. One-shot… I think.

As usual, own absolutely positively _nothing _of _**psych**_**. **Zip, zilch, bubkes. I'll willingly give up any and all ideas to anyone in charge who wants 'em. Although I suspect, they wouldn't. So there.

*The Beer Battered Onion Rings Ruffles Potato Chips are a real thing. Terrifying, I know.

* * *

Shawn Spencer had a secret.

A big one.

A _very_ big one.

Maybe.

Possibly.

He thought.

No, no… he _knew_.

Problem was, Shawn wasn't very good at keeping secrets, especially big ones. _Especially_ about other people—mostly because they were usually _so _fun to share. At least, fun for him. But this secret—this _very big_ secret—he'd kept. He'd kept it longer than any other secret in his own personal history, other than, you know, the fact that he wasn't psychic, although that really wasn't a secret since Gus knew the truth and of course, his dad, and Lassie had never believed it anyhow, although did he really count?

Probably not.

But this secret—_this_—he was sure about.

And he had to tell _someone_ or else he was going to expire with the Not Telling.

And that would be tragic, because then there would be no more of him and what would the world be without Shawn Spencer? At the very least there would be a horrific overpopulation of churros and nachos and various and sundry pineapple-based goodies.

So clearly, he had to tell _someone_.

It was for the greater good of the world and universe and the population of Santa Barbara, after all.

Ha.

Never let anyone—mostly Lassie—say he didn't put the well-being of others before himself.

Now, ordinarily, he'd share with Gus. Because Gus was _excellent_ at keeping secrets unless he had a gun pointed at him or under the influence of Chief Vick's icy glare. And okay, he _was_ physically incapable of keeping a secret from Shawn—but that was only natural since it wouldn't be right for Gus to keep secrets from Shawn. He'd learned that the hard way during the six months he kept canceling his credit card because of some alleged fraud and then forgetting to tell Shawn the new numbers.

But Gus wasn't around. Some paltry excuse having to do with the pharmaceutical company and required hours. Then during the time he should rightfully be spending with Shawn, he was with someone else. A woman.

Far be it from Shawn to deny his bestie the opportunity to enjoy the company of a lady. Although he didn't understand why he wasn't happy just hanging out with him and Jules. Jules was a woman. A very pretty one. So what if the majority of her attention was focused on Shawn? That's only as was right and proper.

Gus had merely made that noise—the dismissive snort, tongue-clicking-against-the-teeth noise—straightened his tie, and refused to tell Shawn where he was taking his new friend with the ladybits. And told him not to follow or he _would_ call the cops on him for harassment and file a restraining order.

Shawn had made the dismissive snort, tongue-clicking-against-the-teeth noise right back at him, but nevertheless promised he wouldn't follow. He didn't need to. He'd already planted the camera in Gus' tie clip. But he'd be too busy to keep up with Gus' no-doubt boring shenanigans because he _had a secret to share_.

And he had to share it _now_.

"Jules—"

"Not now."

"But it has to be _now_."

"Shawn, I have a migraine and a weapon close at hand."

"You can't shoot me—your eyes are covered." They were—by a folded washcloth—as she lay back on her sofa in her dim living room. Too dim. He needed light by which to see her face when he made his big reveal.

"So help me, you touch that light switch, I _will_ shoot you."

Slowly and more than a little unnerved, Shawn moved his hand away from the wall switch. Fine. He'd just have to sit close to her. Not that this was normally a hardship, but she did have a pretty good grip on her weapon. He was pretty certain she wouldn't be able to find him with her eyes covered, but why take that chance? Especially before he could share his secret.

His _very big secret_.

"Jules, this is serious."

She sighed. "If I let you tell me whatever it is you feel the need to tell me while I'm suffering the effects of a tribe of howler monkeys cavorting around the inside of my skull will you promise to a) shut the hell up and b) shut the ever-loving _hell_ up?"

He lowered his brows. "You sound more like Lassie with every day you spend as his partner. I'm not so sure this is a good thing or healthy for your general constitution, Maybe it's time you—"

He stopped short at the ominously-quiet _schnick _ of the weapon's safety sliding to the OFF position.

"Okay. We'll revisit that topic at another time." Keeping a wary eye on the weapon as it remained unerringly trained on him despite Juliet's apparent lack of vision, he eased into a chair beside the sofa.

"Make your point quickly, directly, and very, very softly. And I _will_ know if you put your finger to your forehead and if you do, I may well shoot, so I'd think very carefully about any unnecessary movements. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Just in case, he shoved his hands beneath his thighs. The finger-to-head trick was very nearly second nature these days and he still bore the bruises from when she'd whacked his chest in bed the other day when he'd "sensed" she was nearing a… crucial moment.

It had been an accident.

The finger-to-head thing—not the crucial moment.

He didn't think.

"Shawn?"

"What?"

All she did was sigh and lift the hand not holding her weapon to the washcloth covering her eyes.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." At her visible wince, he consciously lowered his voice. "I've got a secret."

He found himself staring down the muzzle of the weapon.

"It's a good one, I swear."

"Get. On. With. It," she muttered through gritted teeth.

"Lassie's wearing a ring."

"What?"

"Lassie—Lassiefras—Lassie-go-Round—Head Detective Carlton M. Lassiter and do we even know what the M. stands for?—is wearing a ring."

Slowly, Juliet sat up, gingerly holding her head as if afraid it might fall off her neck. Pulling the washcloth away from her eyes, she squinted at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"A few weeks back, when he helped me with the plan to take down Jerry Carp and Julian, the evil English novelist—" He paused. "Or should that be Julian, the English, evil novelist?"

"_Shawn_—" she hissed.

He ducked, the wet washcloth whizzing past his ear.

"Okay, sorry—where was I?"

"Carlton and a ring." Her eyebrows drew together for a brief wince-inducing moment. "Look, Shawn—it was a stressful time for all of us, but especially for you—I'm thinking you were imagining things. Carlton doesn't wear jewelry."

She was right. And wrong. "I'm telling you, Jules, he was wearing a ring."

"And I'm telling you, you had to be imagining things." She took a sip from a bottle of ginger ale. "I have known Carlton for over seven years and never once have I seen him wear a ring."

"Yeah, but have you ever _known_ him to have worn a ring before?"

She paused, bottle halfway to her lips. "When he was married he wore a wedding ring. I remember those bratty little genius kids noticing he rubbed at his ring finger, as if aware of its absence." She hit him with a narrow glare. "Are you saying…"

He nodded so frantically, she visibly blanched as if feeling her own brain rattling around her skull.

"Look, I know I was stressed and I know it was crazy, but he was wearing a ring, Jules. A plain white gold, possibly platinum, band on his ring finger, left hand."

Her eyes widened and she finally lowered the gun to the end table. "But that would mean—"

Once again, Shawn nodded, all but bouncing in his chair.

"I know he loves Marlowe, but to marry her even before her release—"

"That's the thing—it's not Marlowe." Shawn bounded from the chair, unable to contain himself any longer.

"_What_? Oh, _God_." Juliet put both hands to her head, pressing her palms against the sides of her skull. "What the hell are you talking about? Of course it's Marlowe. "

"No, it's not." The more he'd thought about it, the more certain he'd become. "When I thanked him for helping me with Jerry and Julian, the—" he stopped short at the look Juliet shot him. "Anyhow, when I thanked him, I said something about how he'd risked so much to help—stuff that could cost him his job and worse although I have no idea what could be worse for Lassie than losing his job—"

Once again, he found himself staring at the barrel of Juliet's weapon.

"Anyhow, I said he had to think of Marlowe, considering they'd never even had the chance to do the horizontal samba."

"You what?"

"Oh, come on, Jules—" He drew up, affronted. "Give me some credit. I didn't put in quite those terms."

She lowered the weapon back to the table and crossed her arms.

"Okay, only because it didn't occur to me to put it in quite those terms at that precise moment."

She nodded, a tiny motion that appeared to be all she was capable of although judging by how quickly she'd drawn her weapon, her reflexes weren't that badly affected by the migraine, but her patience sure as hell was so Shawn figured he'd better get on with it. He didn't _think_ she'd shoot him, but given how her delicate sensibilities appeared to be suffering, why take the risk? She'd sure be incredibly sorry afterwards, so honestly, it was for her own good.

"Why are you so sure it's not Marlowe?"

Just in time, he caught himself, quickly resuming his seat and shoving his hands back beneath his thighs.

"When I said—" He caught her look and carefully said, "That thing about him and Marlowe, he said he wasn't going to have that discussion with me."

She lifted a shoulder. "So? Sounds about right."

"But Jules—he didn't draw his weapon." He leaned forward intently, trying to impart the _absolute_ momentousness of the moment. "He didn't even _threaten_ to draw his weapon. Not even when I told him his heart hearted mine and he'd feel so much better if he confessed his love for me."

He wasn't sure why Jules looked so appalled. Probably because of the moment's momentousness.

Once again, she shook her head and honestly, he'd had no idea anyone could actually _turn_ green.

"I repeat, Shawn—it was a stressful time. For everyone. Even though he'd just as soon shoot himself before admitting it, Carlton holds your dad in extremely high regard. He wanted to catch Jerry Carp almost as badly as you did."

"I know." Shawn relaxed back into the chair. "I know he did—and I can honestly say there's no way I would have been able to pull it off without his help although if you ever tell him I said so, I'll deny it. Vehemently. And with great force. While eating a giant bag of Ruffles Beer Battered Onion Rings Potato Chips and breathing the fumes all over everyone."

"I know. On all counts." For the first time that afternoon, she looked as if she didn't want to kill him. "However, you still haven't given me any proof as to why it's not Marlowe. Or even that he's married at all. To anyone." She cocked her head. "Maybe it's just a promise ring. A pledge to Marlowe."

It was Shawn's turn to be appalled. "What is he? A junior high _girl_?"

"You're asking me to believe my partner and friend of over seven years is married—to someone who's not the woman he's been involved with for over a year—and you have the nerve to act as if _my_ theories have no credence?"

"If your theories _had_ credence I'd give it to them. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye." He nodded his head in what he hoped was definitive fashion.

She made that noise—the dismissive snort, tongue-clicking-against-the-teeth noise—and when had she learned that? "Now who's the junior high girl?"

"Look, you're getting off track here, Jules."

"And I maintain, you've given me no proof other than a ring that only you appear to have seen, at night, during an extremely emotionally stressful time."

"And I maintain, I'm right. Emotional distress or not, there's no way Lassie would've let comments like that slide. In fact, I'd argue that the emotional distress would make him more prone to reacting violently."

"So what are you saying, then?"

Shawn grinned. _Finally_. They were getting to the point.

"I'm saying that Lassie's married and it's not to Marlowe, because if it was, he'd still be a walking, talking, extremely angry example to small children and adolescents as to the very real dangers of long-term sexual deprivation."

"English, Shawn."

As she spoke, Juliet rubbed her forehead, wearily, it seemed and why was she so tired anyway? He was the one who'd been carrying the weight of this secret for weeks, for God's sake.

Shawn sighed and very slowly said, "Lassie helped me and he didn't draw his weapon because he is inexplicably in a happy place. A _very_ happy place," he said more slowly and with meaningful emphasis.

Still clearly skeptical, Juliet slowly said, "So you're saying…"

"I'm saying Lassie—Lassiefras—Lassie-go-Round—Head Detective Carlton M. Lassiter of the mysterious unknown M., is not only married, but he is getting some." He tried not to shudder at the thought.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "I still think you're insane."

"I think I'm right."

His beloved girlfriend, migraine and all, smirked. A truly evil smirk.

"I've heard it both ways."

* * *

With a deep sigh, Carlton closed the door behind himself and turned the lock. More and more, this was where he felt most real—crossing the threshold into his home and shutting out the rest of the world—which frankly, sucked. But he had to work to make it better, if only because of what he had waiting for him at home.

"Hey—you're later than I expected."

"O'Hara being out with that migraine made the day insane. At least it kept Spencer out of my hair." He tossed his briefcase and suit jacket on the sofa on his way to the kitchen where she worked at the stove while a beer stood waiting on the counter, already uncapped.

"You're a goddess," he said with a brief kiss to her full mouth before he took a grateful drink from the icy bottle.

"So you keep saying."

"Because it's true." He ran his fingers through her hair, marveling that this was his reality now. Catching sight of his bare finger, he set the bottle down and fumbled with the catch of the long chain he wore around his neck during the day.

"Here—let me help."

Obediently, he turned and bowed his head, shivering at the touch of her cool fingers to the back of his neck. After he felt the chain come free, he turned and put his hand in hers, smiling as she slipped the platinum band onto his finger. As much as he wasn't one for jewelry, he'd really missed wearing a wedding band. He'd missed being married. Although now that he was married to the _right_ woman, it was even more than he'd ever expected. If anything ever happened…

"What's that face?" she asked, rubbing between his brows.

"Just thinking how damned lucky I am—" He wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed down into her beautiful face. "That you ever gave me a chance."

"I think that's maybe the other way around." She draped her arms around his neck and leaned into his embrace. "That you even gave me a second look, given you were involved with someone else."

"Well, _you_ were supposed to have been married. How was I supposed to know you'd been divorced for nearly three years?"

"It was no one's business. But hindsight being what it is, I should've maybe made it public." Karen wrinkled her nose. "Damned politics. I don't know what we're going to do if the Mayor loses his reelection campaign. If his opponent wins, I'm out of a job, because I'm _not_ going to keep our relationship secret a damned minute longer than I have to."

"And I keep telling you, even if that Puritan blowhard wins, he can't fire you. Not legitimately."

She sighed. "Not legitimately, no, but the time, effort, and money it would take to right that particular wrong—not to mention, the bad publicity. The whispered innuendo about when did we get involved, when exactly did I get separated and divorced, you having been in a relationship with a felon you arrested, and oh, the not-so-insignificant fact that I'm your boss." She sighed again. "All hell's going to break loose."

"I suspect when it does come out, we're going to have a lot more support than you expect." Carlton held her close, every fierce protective instinct rising to the fore. "And if the worst happens, we'll figure it out—together. Because I've got you now, Karen, and I'll be damned if I'm letting you go or if I let anyone hurt you or Iris."

She smiled up at him, her eyes the color of warm amber, her beautiful face lit with obvious love. For him. It still boggled the mind. "Why Carlton Lassiter, you sound almost positive. What on earth's gotten into you?"

"You know, I _am_ feeling positive. And hopeful. And all that optimistic crap I've scoffed at in the past." He shook his head. "I thought for sure we were dead the night I slipped up and forgot to take off my ring. I mean, for Spencer to have seen it and don't try to tell me it's possible he missed it—you and I both know there's no way he misses anything—psychic or no and we both know how I feel about _that_—"

"I know, sweetheart. I know." She smiled and rubbed his back, soothing him.

Sighing at her touch, he brushed her hair back from her face. "Anyhow—the fact that he saw it and hasn't said a damned thing—to anyone, that I know of, because if he'd told Guster, that cream puff would've been dancing around me like a bullet on a heated frying pan and if he'd told O'Hara, she would've talked my ear off until I confessed, and by God, that woman is good at interrogations—"

He shook his head, still disbelieving. "For Spencer to not have said anything borders on a miracle."

Karen's expression was thoughtful. "Maybe he's growing up."

Carlton snorted. "I said _bordered_ on a miracle. Growing up might fall under the auspices of full-on, call the Church investigators to snoop around for signs of divine intervention."

She shrugged and leaned up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth. "Anything's possible," she whispered against his lips.

Carlton looked at the woman in his arms—the woman he now called wife—and considered the highly unlikely and wildly twisting path that had brought them to this place—

And couldn't bring himself to argue.


End file.
